


Caught in a Healing Rain

by PrideGifts (Laeviss)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: BFA era, F/M, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/PrideGifts
Summary: Jaina learns that Thrall has arrived with the Earthen Ring to heal an Azerite leak in Tiragarde Sound and she hurries to the shore to greet him.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Thrall
Comments: 18
Kudos: 34





	Caught in a Healing Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nettleurgy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettleurgy/gifts).



A few drops of rain whispered against Jaina’s cheek as she tucked back a strand of white hair that had slipped from her braid. The cool wind blowing down from the mountains tingled in the wake of its dampness. She adjusted her stance and put her back to the breeze, grasping the shaft of her staff with her right hand while the fingers of her left dipped into the satchel on her waist and extracted a handkerchief. 

She unfolded it, revealing a gold anchor embroidered into a sea of green. Clutching it in her palm, she brought it to her face and wiped a wet trail running from her eyebrow to her chin. Her efforts, however, proved to be in vain. No sooner had she returned the cloth to her bag than the shower quickened its pace, pattering against the nape of her neck and dripping under her collar. 

With a sigh, she reached over her shoulder and pulled up her hood, tucking her thick, plaited hair beneath its cover. She looked down upon the teal-shingled roofs of Hatherford, finding the watchtower rising from the center of town and watching as the colorful pennants strung from it flapped in the wind. 

Beyond, past the bridge leading into Boralus, a camp poked up from the shore. Its leather tents, neither the remnants of some pirate’s rendezvous point nor one night’s lodgings tossed hastily together, stood out from the white canvas lean-tos dotting the edges of the sound. Wooden poles plunged into the earth, strewn at their bases by bits of kelp and tightly bound mats. Puffs of smoke from an iron brazier wafted into the air above their peaks.

Rolling her shoulders and setting her lips in a line, Jaina made her way down the road, around the outskirts of town, and to the edge of this small encampment. The thick smell of burning wood greeted her, and sea salt she could taste on the tip of her tongue, but no one emerged from the tents even after she nudged the corner of one with the toe of her boot. All was still except the soft patter of raindrops against leather and stone, the crackle of flames, and the faint whisper of the blessing that kept the fire from going out.

Blinking and sliding back her hood an inch or two, she looked out over the water. In the distance, on a cluster of rocks, two figures huddled around a scrap of parchment. The surrounding waves hummed and glowed in ethereal shades of blue, and between the rocks ran a stain like gold ink spilled from an enchanter’s well. 

The larger of the two men lifted his head. Jaina studied his face through the mist. Lips parted in recognition, and then he turned to the Broken by his side and said something the Lord Admiral couldn’t make out. 

She didn’t have time to guess about it. A high voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Lord Admiral,” a tidesage she didn’t recognize stepped forward, inclining her head in Jaina’s direction. Red curls spilled from her hood to sway about her flushed cheeks. “I hope it isn’t a bother to you. We sent a missive last night announcing the Earthen Ring’s presence, but they came so quickly, I’m not sure…”

“It’s all right,” Jaina cut in, leaning against her staff. “I’ve been in Stormsong for the past three days. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have received the message even if it had arrived before they did.” She paused and then, with a slight smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, added, “Luckily, word travels as quickly along this road as I had remembered.”

The tidesage brightened; her shoulders relaxed, and her hands drifted easily to her sides. “Aye, indeed it does, my Lord. ‘Orc’ has been on everyone’s lips this morning, and for good reason. But no one knows the earth like Thrall here, and if these cracks keep spreading—”

“Jaina,” Thrall rumbled behind her. He snipped short the final vowel of her name, then went on in softer, more even Common, “My apologies. I didn’t see Sister Andrea return. Pardon my intrusion.”

“It’s all right, really,” the mage said for the second time in seconds. She turned on her heels, and then, with a gentle laugh, bowed to the orc in greeting. Thrall responded in kind, a hint of a glow blossoming upon his green cheeks. 

Raindrops clung like dew to his braids. When he nodded, they caught the glimmer of flames licking at the brazier by Jaina’s side. She glanced down at them, then back up into his searching eyes as she lowered her hood. The woman by her side cleared her throat.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know you two were acquainted.” She took a half-step back, the pieces of whatever rumors she had heard over the years falling together, her expression shifting from perplexed to flustered. “I was just telling the Lord Admiral how you’re here healing the fissure in the sound. Thank you, again, World Shaman. A month or so more of it and the crab mating season might fail. People here in Boralus would starve. Business would be disrupted.”

“Not to mention the pirates in Freehold would go richer, and more difficult to handle.” Jaina chuckled under her breath.

“Aye, that as well, Lord Admiral, and we don’t want any of that.”

“Indeed, we don’t,” Thrall agreed, nodding first to the Sister, and then, with a moment longer spent with his eyes downcast, to the mage. Despite the cool wind kissing the back of her neck, warmth spread to the tips of Jaina’s ears.

Sister Andrea looked between them once more, and then jostled the scrolls hanging about her waist. They rustled and knocked together, before disappearing beneath her cloak. After she straightened, she wrung her hands in front of her and said, with more haste than the situation demanded, “Well, then, I better take this map out to that draenei fellow before the storm rolls in. Try to stay dry, Lord Admiral, World Shaman.” Their titles tumbled from her lips like the waves lapping at the sand by Thrall’s feet. 

With that, she cast a spell that parted the sound and stepped onto the rocky bed. Water rushed in to fill the hole behind her, its roar briefly eclipsing the ever-louder patter of rain. 

Thrall took a step closer. The beads at the end of his braids rattled against the bone necklace strung across his bare chest. Jaina straightened and drew in a breath.

“Lord Admiral,” he murmured, looking down at the silver anchor hanging between her breasts. “It suits you.” 

She arched her brow. The corners of her lips rose, but this time, a full smile didn’t break through. She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. “If I had known you were coming, I would’ve been here to welcome you. We could spare some accommodations.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Thrall admitted. 

Shaking her head, Jaina gestured to the water. “You’re doing us a great favor. If these cracks get any wider, our entire way of life will suffer.” Andrea’s thanks left Jaina’s tongue easier than the many personal feelings she wanted to express, but her pink cheeks betrayed the gaps in her statement.

Thrall let her finish, then stepped towards the fire, nudging a plank sticking out through the iron bars, kicking sparks up into the air. The burst of light drew his features into relief, catching a line or two Jaina didn’t remember between his brows. She moved to his side, her sleeve brushing against his elbow. 

“Your tidesages have shown us great hospitality,” he pointed out. “They’ve given us fuel, ale, and rations, and stilled the tides from overcoming out camp. We couldn’t ask for anything better.”

“Still,” Jaina responded. For a moment, she thought to leave it at that, but then hastily added, before she could lose her nerve, “Walk with me. If you can, I mean. I don’t want to keep you—”

“I have time,” Thrall stopped her. She exhaled, and, finally, her smile resurfaced.

After extracting a white pelt from one of the tents and draping it over his shoulders, Thrall returned to her side, and they left the camp at a stroll. They climbed the bank, avoiding the clumps of sea grass poking out through the rocks, and then trod a muddy path winding towards the bridge gate. Despite their difference in size, they easily fell into pace. Jaina’s left arm swung loosely by her side, her knuckles brushing the paw dangling from the end of Thrall’s pelt.

When her boots met stone, they clicked, though she could barely make out the sound through the gust of wind that swept past them. Once they were on the bridge, the rustle of leaves grew softer but the crack of waves louder and more ominous. Jaina rested against a balustrade, her staff propped against one side while her free hand splayed over the opposite corner. 

She inhaled the briny air, then pushed back a wisp of blonde hair before it could drip rain down her face. Leaning against the barrier to her left, Thrall looked down into the water, his gaze immediately trained on the glowing, crackling web in the earth that had brought him to Kul Tiras in the first place. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina caught him pursing his lips. She felt the rise and fall of his massive chest, the heat of his arm leaning beside her. 

She opened her mouth to ask what was on his mind, but the howling wind ripped the sound from her throat. As she tipped her shoulder towards him, however, his expression softened. 

“It’s not always like this,” she laughed, high enough to be heard. 

His lips curled into a toothy grin. He wiped the rain from his forehead with the back of his hand, “Loud?”

“Cold,” she replied, rolling forward and readjusting her cloak. 

Thrall chuckled: a low, rumbling sound. “Jaina, I am a Frostwolf. I have weathered storms far worse than this.”

“It won’t be as noisy in town,” the mage explained. Her voice hitched, jumping an octave higher and quickening its pace. Color flooded her cheeks, but she pressed on. “The walls break the worst of the winds, and the awnings should keep us dry…” 

The orc squared his shoulders, glancing towards the guards stationed on either side of the gate. His brows knit together, and from the way his jaw clenched, it was clear, this time, what he was thinking. An orc in Boralus. Had such a thing ever occurred? The slight flick of his gaze to her boots made Jaina’s chest tighten, reality taking shape in the space before her. 

But then, he nodded, rising, and stepping back from the wall. “Lead the way, Lord Admiral.” His wet braids swung forward. Despite the formality, warmth bubbled beneath his words: an invisible smile Jaina had learned to identify during their time on Kalimdor. 

Sweeping her own hair back off her face, she brushed past him and took off over the wooden draw bridge leading into the city. Thrall hesitated, but the heavy thud of his boots soon joined Jaina’s lighter footfalls. Back in step, they passed beneath an arch that offered a moment of relief, then took the road wrapping around the barracks, leaving their side exposed to the howling wind. 

Jaina’s fingers clutched the hem of her hood, but a shake confirmed the interior had gotten too wet to be pulled back over her head. Ahead she could make out Hook Point, its crowds chased away by the darkening sky and by rain puddling its cobblestone path. Only a row of guards stood between them and the city. They tightened their jaws and clutched their polearms tighter as the pair passed, but they made no move to stop the Lord Admiral.

In those first sunny days in Durotar, Jaina had imagined bringing Thrall to stay in Boralus, extending a hand to him at the Midsummer’s ball or passing the hours shoulder-to-shoulder on the docks, listening to the heartfelt songs of sailors stumbling towards their ships. 

Her father’s pursuit had dashed that dream, and yet here they were. The heat from Thrall’s arm warmed Jaina’s slender shoulder and, though her teeth clenched when she caught her guards’ stares, the low rumble of Thrall’s breath soothed the tension away. 

They stepped over a stream in the street, reuniting on the opposite side. Jaina glanced up, and when their eyes met, Thrall nodded and followed her gaze to the alley branching off to his left. Quickening their pace, and then slowing as they made it under the awning, they finally stopped by the wall overlooking the canal. 

The rain fell considerably less where they lingered, but in its wake crawled a chill that wrapped around Jaina’s shoulders and slunk to toes trapped wet boots. She shivered and took a half-conscious step towards the orc. Her right arm lifted her staff aloft, but then Thrall rolled his shoulder to the side. He pulled off his pelt and clutched it in a green fist, even as fire spread from the tip of Jaina's weapon and encircled them both in its warmth.

Her shield quivered. She let out a gasp, and her eyes widened as fur nearly twice her size sank down upon her. She would have ached if not for his hand still holding its edges, steadying it, and bridging the gap between them. Tilting her chin, she looked up into his face; it seemed to glow in the orange light of her spell and the heat that had overcome his features.

She smiled faintly, then leaned up onto her toes. He opened his mouth, but the water rushing off the awning behind him overpowered any sound that left his throat. Through the roar and the splatter, only the quiver of Thrall’s chest betrayed his surprise. 

Then, Jaina pressed a kiss against the swell of his lower lip. His breath hitched. His tusks grazed her wet cheeks, and the hand still holding his pelt tightened its grip. Jaina leaned into him. Her free hand slid to rest against the curve of his neck beneath his beard. The circle she had conjured over them wavered, then returned with an even brighter, more brilliant vigor. Thrall murmured her name. She whispered his against his flushed skin.

The creak of a door opening beside them tore Jaina from her daze. She saw the round face of a bartender peeking out into the alley. His eyes bulged. Her magical light caught the sheen of sweat clinging to his bushy eyebrows. 

“Oh, Lord Admiral,” he gasped. Jaina’s heart stopped. She took a step back, but knew she couldn’t duck out from the pelt without calling more attention to it. Her other hand froze against the line of Thrall’s now-rigid shoulder.

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the barkeep cut her off. He waved a stubby hand, then pointed at the gilded sign swinging over their heads. “Storm’s getting bad out here, isn’t it? Care for a pint or two? I’m sure we have something on tap to your orc friend’s taste.”

Jaina could hardly believe what she heard. Her chest swelled, and even though the man’s eyes darted between them and the sheen on his forehead grew more pronounced, his words were friendly, and his cracked-tooth smile shone bright. 

Exhaling, and dispelling the fire surrounding them, she bowed to escape the weight of the orcish pelt, and then bowed again, even deeper, to greet the barkeep. “Thank you.” She waited for Thrall to join her, resting her hand against the swell of his upper arm. “Your hospitality won’t be forgotten by me, nor by the World Shaman. You have our thanks.”

Without any further discussion, they followed the man down a dusty flight of stairs to a bar with a roaring fire. They chose a seat in the corner, beneath a window fogged and streaked. The other patrons lifted their heads, but they couldn’t hear their whispers over the tink of rain against glass and the crackle of logs licked by flames. Beneath the table, their knees rested together. Jaina took a swig of ale from the mug she was offered, but the tingle of their kiss never left her lips.


End file.
